Christmas in September
by Drew Skye
Summary: In Chris' alleged hysteria before leaving for Europe, he prepared for what he thought would be the worst. Then, he left those preparations to Jill when she decided to stay in Raccoon City. His paranoia seems to have paid off.  During RE3


The police station was remarkably quiet, in comparison to all of the noise there usually was during her countless hours spent there. Lots of echoes and voices in the old building, footsteps going countless places and if nothing else the screechy bark of Chief Irons. The only thing Jill really heard was the sound of her own footsteps against the concrete stairs, the sound waves reverberating off the bloodstained stairwell and making her feel uneasy. It was a special brand of silence, one that screamed death she first heard in the mansion. Also like the mansion, she avoided the small pools of blood on the steps that no doubt was probably inflicted by one of the shamblers. Jill took deep breaths, ignoring the putrid stench that filled her nose and begged her to lose it. It wasn't the first time she'd seen blood, or smelled a rotten body. Even before she stumbled into the Spencer Estate she had experienced both. It was more territorial, the fact that this wasn't just a crazy little nightmare she had out in the woods. No, this was real; so real, it was taking over everything she had ever known. Even the beacon of justice and protection, the police station had been infected and tainted into Umbrella's idea of genetic warfare supremacy. There was no telling just how much she would give for five minutes alone with any one of those god forsaken researchers.

In an attempt to distract herself a little more, she looked at the note with the unmistakable chicken scratch that belonged to Chris Redfield. She'd never forget, not in a million years just how concerned he looked at her before he left, giving her a folder and telling her not to open it until he was gone. All the note inside said was that he hoped she didn't need these things, but he had hidden some things around town for her. The best, as described in the note were placed in the police station. The first spot on the list, underlined so to specify it as an important place was the mens restroom located on the basement floor. She carefully took steps now, remembering the rules about with smoke, fire was never far. The stark white walls were becoming more and more blood spattered and smeared, the harsh light nearly making the ambient light in the stairwell red. The smell was getting worse too, meaning there was something down by the door to the basement floor. It was still deathly silent, and Jill gripped her tiny self-defense pistol tightly. It was only a .22, meaning most of the creatures she was sure she'd run into would laugh at her. But during her suspension and later resignation, she was required to turn in not only her badge, but also her gun. She'd give anything to have her trusty beretta back.

When Jill reached the end of the steps, the smell was considerably worse. She took a rancid breath, and held it as she held her unimpressive gun up at the ready. In perfect formation regulated by her training, she took slow step for slow step until she reached the corner. Halting if only to gather her wits, she spun around the corner moving her hands and eyes side to side to sweep the hallway for any threats. There were none, not even on the ceiling. Just a body lying beside the door, unrecognizable until she finally approached the young dead girl. Jill softly put a hand over her mouth as she looked at what they did to her. She had bites on her shoulders, and a couple on her arms that looked pretty deep. Somehow she'd managed to get past them, otherwise she'd have a lot more pieces of herself missing. She shook her head at her piercing stare, blank and frozen in both anguish and terror. There was no way she was any older than nineteen. Almost dutifully, Jill put a boot against the girl's neck and stomped as hard as she could, cringing at the disgusting crunch and turning away quickly to not let herself get emotional. It was a favor, something she hoped would be done for her if she didn't make it; it was better than wandering around blindly looking for someone to eat. She wouldn't have had to be so brutal, had she had the extra bullets.

She crept through the door, releasing the stagnant air from her lungs and inhaling a new breath. Save for remnants of the girl outside the door, the basement had the same old musky smell it always had. There some level of comfort in that, a bit of relief in the normality; like nothing had ever happened in the basement. Jill knew better than to expect things to run smoothly, and instead walked straight for the mens restroom only ten feet away. It was a safe walk, nothing she and the .22 couldn't get past. She'd made it from all the way across town with that little gun and only had to use one shot. Granted, that was one shot out of eight for the tiny gun. Jill glanced back down at the folded note in her hand, and walked briskly through the push door in the bathroom, swinging it open and sweeping the area furiously. There was literally, no room for a scuffle in the tiny mens restroom. If something was going to come after her, she had the worst chance of survival there. After surveying and coming up short of enemies, she let out a sigh of relief and got to work on finding where he would've hidden the goods. There wasn't a lot of space to hide much in there, or space to do much of anything for that matter. She glanced up at the mildewed ceiling tiles, and a smile quickly spread across her face. So simple, so stupid. Chris Redfield was a genius.

Without another moment's hesitation, she stood on top of the toilet and pushed the tile above it up and away, feeling around for a moment and pulling out a medium sized metal box that was heavy enough to make her realize exactly what it was. Like Christmas, Jill hopped down from the toilet and threw the box open. Inside was a S.T.A.R.S. standard issue beretta, hers to be exact. It was complete with three clips other than the one inside of it, and a hip pack to store the clips in. In the bottom of the box was another crumpled up note she quickly unraveled and read.

"Hope you don't have to use it, but if you do take a few out for me.

C"

A huge grin spread across her face as she tucked the note and clips into her hip pack she had hastily thrown on over her skirt. She checked the gun, chambering a round and smiling to herself as she put the last clip in the pack. Feeling something else in the bottom, she pulled out the smaller pack that looked too good to be true.

"Lock picks" she said quietly to herself, an undeniable wave of appreciation washing over her for Chris. He'd saved her ass before, and she him but this was far beyond anything either one of them had done combined.

Jill put them back, zipping up the pack quickly and stuffing the smaller gun into her boot. She looked back at her list, noting the next closest Redfield cache was in the S.T.A.R.S. office on the second floor. Taking a deep breath, Jill walked out of the bathroom and back towards the stairwell. There was no doubt in her mind that there would be a small horde to fight off on the second floor, and also no doubt she would have to use every bit of her lock picking prowess to get in. She sighed, and then walked back into the stairwell. At least she had her trusty beretta, and who knew what else Chris had hidden. At this rate, he may have a helicopter lined up for her. She smirked a rare smirk for the times, and began trudging back up the bloody stairs.

**Hello friends! This was a simple oneshot I did for fun, and you know something? I LOVE ONESHOTS. So, I'll open it up-I haven't been writing a lot lately, but I'd love to try and do it more. If you have a scene in mind for Chris and Jill, let me know! I just might take a request or two. :) Thanks for reading, please review, and forgive me for yet another long absence!**


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